


Xian

by jitaeste (roserquiem)



Series: TALES of OUR WANDERLUST [1]
Category: Wanderlust (RP)
Genre: Dragons, Fainting, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Other, Patricide, Wish me luck, achilles's jokes are beyond our intelligence, au where the four brothers are ACTUALLY agreeing on something with unison, dragon princes, dragon ritual, exiled princes, i have no fleeting idea of what to do rip, please give me feedback uwu, powerful af characters joining together, the brothers are going against their father aka the bad king uwu, very traditional au, wanderlust is a roleplay on wattpad that i am writing for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roserquiem/pseuds/jitaeste
Summary: "Let's burn this bitch to the ground," Achilles hissed, voice tense, on edge with eagerness to take the legacy of the Iriryn and set it aflame with his three younger brothers as he rose his azure blue fan to the sky above them. In a breath's time, the others followed suit. Pythios lowered his head, eyes staring intently at his eldest brother; Cassander stared with a broken kind of determination, a style of anger that one could only see in the eyes. Orpheus himself even glared to his feet, eyes hard and unmerciful - and Achilles, angriest of them all, burned villages to the ground in his mind while he watched the castle behind Pythios.Or alternatively:In which the four princes - both exiled and royal - decide to dethrone and destroy the king of Irihan and his empire.





	1. Legacies Aflame

**Author's Note:**

> y'all shit's about to go down?? wjhehfkjasfjk
> 
> i would like to know if i should continue this or add it to a series pls

_**TO SET THE MOOD, PLAY:**_ <https://youtu.be/2rcckLnrAbg>

* * *

❝_ A booming caterwaul of a wild beast was heard, _

_ and Pythios almost did not recognize that it was _

_himself who made it_... ❞

* * *

Everything was falling perfectly into place.

Every intricate detail that had been carefully planned, strainingly designed, was setting itself up. The writhing, dirty pleasure Pythios felt after his father took his afternoon goodbyes so easily sickeningly filled his belly and left no room for guilt or remorse.

After all the things King Agnes had done, Pythios was informed that it was time. Time to begin the reign of dragons, to seize the kingdom. To burn it down to the dirt they stood upon, the once grassy hill now sparsely dotted with the blades of vegetation. Achilles’ hasty footsteps marked dirt rings where he paced in circles. Much to Pythios’ delight, he was the last to arrive. They all had successfully arrived, Pythios clutching a bag to his chest with a confident expression, eyes full of dark emotion only the four brothers could harness. Precariously placing the bag on a hidden cleft in the ground, Orpheus approached him first. Cassander, his youngest older brother, was busy attempting to calm Achilles down from his concentrated footsteps.

“So… just what was in that bag, Pythios?” Orpheus asked. Pythios only grinned a toothy, canine grin.

Of course he’d ask, it was Orpheus.

“Oh, just some treats.”

  
  
“What _kinds_ of treats?”

With a snarky huff of air, Pythios replied, “What do you think I brought? Alcohol. Wine. _Champagne_. You know, the good stuff?” 

Orpheus didn’t seem particularly pleased at that, simply sighing and rolling his eyes. None of them had the time for friendly banter, he knew this well. Very well. Pythios could feel his body temperature rise, the silken robes becoming much too constricting to his adapting capsule of a being. They all knew what their dragons wanted: out. The beasts in them, once dormant, were now wide awake, wailing and screaming to be released and take over their bodies - but alas, they couldn’t just yet. In order for the four boys - now men - to not be incinerated by the heat of the evolution, a ritual was to be performed. 

And perform they would. They would do every gentle and rough step without a mere glance at their surroundings, and they’d do it damn well. 

After all, they were born to do this, regardless of the blood that pumped in their veins. Pythios liked to believe that his brothers were late bloomers.

Suddenly Achilles stopped, gathering Cassander’s relief, as well as Orpheus and Pythios’ attention. Tilting his head, he sauntered over, eyes yellow and predatory - but not challenging. No one would dare insult their shǒu, especially Pythios, given that he was the youngest of the brothers and was to obey all three of them, no matter how upset or angry he was. They were his elders, and one was to obey unless they desired risking their mortal lives.

The shǒu’s word was law, and Pythios was pleased to obey those specific laws.

“Have you collected the fans?” Cassander inquired of Orpheus, who nodded silently. Inside his eyes a kindling fire burned, not necessarily in flames, but on the verge of burning whomever or whatever he glanced upon. Although Orpheus was calm on the outside, the man was like a bombshell on that morning. So close, so dreadfully close to falling on his knees, screaming, and demanding that the kingdom would fall. The kingdom that their own father, the one who created them, had exiled them from because they didn’t show physical traits of being dragonblooded. All but Pythios, of course - the young man had a petite, feminine facial structure but a body that could endure the longest of droughts and the deepest of floods. A full dragonblood he was. 

However, unlike their father with a lame set of senses, dragons could fully smell and catch scent of fellow dragons, therefore that being the reason why they were gathered there on that empty hilltop, the forest just ten meters downhill and the rest of Irihan in view from the summit of a small mountain. Not far into the forest was the border to the closest kingdom, that of which they didn’t care to remember. The wind was slowly picking up, a storm brewing in the distance. It would rain in just hours, which meant they had just that amount of time to make the nation fall.

It was at the moment of dawn, the ascending sun marking the day of Irihan’s destruction. Iriryn people wouldn’t be accounted for, and they’d settle for no less than the Irihan king to kill.

But somewhere, something deep in Pythios trembled in tears over the obvious chance of his mother being killed. She, Andromeda Agnes, raised him _ and _his three older brothers until their ignorant father, the sire to the quartet of dragons, left them to fend for themselves when they didn’t express having such abilities.

Mother always said to never judge a book by its cover, and Pythios understood now. She taught him such as to not become the ugly thing that he called Father. 

And now?

Now, standing in the drawn circle that Achilles had so passionately drawn out (he wouldn’t let them move from their places for a good fifteen minutes in lieu of sitting down to rest, all because he wanted the circle to be absolutely _perfect_), the four brothers clutched their fans with varying tightness. Orpheus seemed slacked out, hands dangling at his sides with little to no visible strength in his arms. _How disappointing,_ Pythios thought, _to set a sleazy example of an elder brother. Is he totally sure that he’s older than me?_

Yes, because the second that he had looked up, both Cassander and Pythios shivered.

He was enraged.

The reasons as to why he was so angry were unknown, but Pythios figured it was from the way King Hector Agnes had treated them. Was it right to call his father by his full name? Most likely not, but after the events he felt no desire to call him father. He did not deserve such a title. If anything, Achilles was more of a father than his own father, and they all agreed that Achilles would be a reckless but good father. 

“Are you done yet, shǒu?” Pythios addressed the said man, who glared and growled in the respective order. 

“Not yet. Now stand still.”

“Shǒu, it’s been twenty minutes, and it looks just fine,” Orpheus commented, silencing Achilles for a moment. Had Achilles actually been silenced?

“Xiānglǐ… shut your mouth.” Clearly not.

Stunned into silence, Orpheus popped his mouth shut and the three waited another long, straining ten minutes - until Achilles sighed in bliss at the perfect circle and stepped in his own post. Pythios himself lowered his head, as did Cassander and Orpheus, and waited for Achilles to let them stand easier.

“My brothers, as I struggle to admit, I am kind of proud of you. _Kind of._ You three have obeyed me as nicely as you could, haven’t failed me so far, and I will not raise my hopes from rock bottom due to knowing your shitty fighting skills.”

Pythios resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Achilles always found a way to give backhanded compliments and insults in the same sets of sentences, and he'd say that the three of them were adequately good fighters.

“Now, it is dawn. Dawn of the first day of destruction, the only day to follow through with our plan. Does everyone know what they are to do?”

Not really. Achilles barely explained his own tasks in the hype of the future destruction.

“I will explain what you three are to partake in then, since you clearly don’t have a fleeting clue,” he huffed out a breath of air from his nose, “Pythios, you are to begin the ritual with your performance, and it will allow us to join in. My brothers, make sure to not fuck this up, because Pythios won’t have it in him to do it again, you know. After we transmogrify, you can do what you please - but I expect you all to unanimously destroy any and every house you see. I have the castle for myself, thank you very much. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the three of them replied, clearly annoyed at his nature, but unwilling to retaliate - after all, they were brothers, bred to irritate each other just for shits and giggles.

“Good. You may stand and shed your robes,” Achilles smirked, holding his rigid fan in his teeth while he untied his intricately sewn black and red robes, dropping it to the ground and kicking it somewhere off in the dirt before flicking his eyebrows. Pythios was the next to let his royal outfitting fall, throwing it behind him and in the direction of his bag of wines and champagne - with Cassander shyly discarding his own and Orpheus leaving his on a rock, to keep it clean and unstained by the red clay dust. “Now…” Pythios’s eyes darted from Orpheus’s robe to Achilles’s face. All of the brothers were in trousers or pants only, Pythios wearing his silken bottoms that were held with even more silk around his waist - akin to a genie. His shǒu’s relaxed expression had morphed into a flurry of anger, resentment, blind rage in what was easily mere seconds.

"Let's burn this bitch to the ground," Achilles hissed, voice tense, on edge with eagerness to take the legacy of the Iriryn and set it aflame with his three younger brothers as he rose his azure blue fan to the sky above them.

In a breath's time, the others followed suit. Pythios lowered his head, eyes staring intently at his eldest brother, his shǒu. Cassander stared with a broken kind of determination, a style of anger that one could only see in the eyes. Orpheus himself even glared to his feet, eyes hard and unmerciful - and Achilles, angriest of them all, burned villages to the ground in his mind while he watched the castle behind Pythios.

Pythios looked to his left, seeing the sun rise in the far east, a hand’s length above the horizon. It was time. The feathers on his hand fan fluttered in the wind, and Pythios inhaled the morning air as his dragon thrived. The breeze was to pick up, their fiery scents flowing downwind to Irihan.

It was time.

A flick of his hand and the fan was open, gleaming in the light as Pythios felt his body become swallowed up by the passion and internal heat that licked at his skin, that of which was slowly, ever so slowly, making burn marks as to have his scales easily slide through. It started from the outer corners of his eyes, barely a gradual pace, and it went outwards from there. Jumping up with his feet and fluttering about, Pythios twirled and spun a complicated quilt of moves and tricks, flaunting his flexibility. Orpheus noticed how the ground would be highlighted despite the rising sun by Pythios’s eyes, how the dirt under his feet hummed with warmth.

Swooping down to scoop the reddish brown dirt in his ink black fan, Pythios sucked in air and turned as the dirt and dust flew around him - getting him dirty as well as his brothers, but the chaînés he executed off well made up for it.

After, Pythios did pirouettes and attitude turns and many dances with himself, flipping and whirling and parading in a small ring of his own he made. His rigid fan's feathers were sizzling, smoking as they lit themselves aflame. In a moment's notice, soreness overwhelmed Pythios and he knew his brothers felt it too.

A dragon could always feel it's kin's pain, could it not?

"Well done!" Cassander smiled, eyes curling into curved moons. Pythios smiled back, panting as he bowed to Achilles, Orpheus, and his youngest older brother. The sizzling burn left no room for catching his breath as the four of them instantaneously continued, in a daze while they performed the ritual.

They all noticed how rigorous Achilles was, doing his part with much more strength as heat flowed across their eyes. Their shǒu’s anger was more dominant than the smells of the wet earth, the heat of the august morning already breathing down their backs and eliciting sweat out of their skin. Preposterous, it was. He couldn’t be _that_ angry at their father… could he? 

The cries of fury proved otherwise. Achilles moved pebbles each time he jumped up and down, the brothers leaping and doing butterfly twists in sync. They were exhausted, but the adrenaline from their dragons painfully emerging submerged the pain of overworking themselves for the ritual. They could do this.

After a few sequences, Achilles suddenly let out a breathless chuckle, the trio of younger men stopping with him. Watching him as he panted but suddenly dashed for the edge of the hill, the jagged side that was shown off to the vast forest between the two kingdoms. Cassander yelped in surprise, Orpheus and Pythios knowing exactly what was to happen -

Achilles was going to transmogrify. He’d finally transmogrify, the painful process quick and fast for them due to their bloodline. But… would he survive and be able to wait for them? Could he wait on them? Pythios only hoped, hoped so dearly that he would. They needed him to follow through with their orders and lead them, albeit he wasn’t the most ideal leader, but he was their favorite and only one. 

\- And so they jumped. First it was Pythios, who jumped belly first and tumbled in the air, diving after his brother. The hill was large, not large enough to be a mountain - they were at least a hundred or so meters high - but definitely not just a wave of earth in the ground, therefore giving them a good one hundred fifty meters to jump and morph. 

Achilles’ plumes of smoke that followed him blurred Pythios’ vision, who, feeling his body grow in great size at a rapid pace, howled out in displeasure. 

A booming caterwaul of a wild beast was heard, and Pythios almost did not recognize that it was himself who made it. He flailed, feeling his arms be as heavy as lead but his body even heavier and longer. He had done it… to his surprise. Why, how did he change so fast? 

The ground never came. Instead, he found himself rearing back to soar into the air, a bright white blur passing by him so fast that his dragon’s whiskers fluttered as quickly as a flag did. Then, just as quick as that blue thing passed, a thundering thud echoed across the nearby land. Of course he’d do that. Achilles’s dragon was just like that, wasn’t it? Annoying.

Snuffing the air, his other older brothers had indeed changed. Each of the dragons were at least three meters in circumference of their serpent like bodies, jagged back fins and plates lining their spinal cords in different shapes and sizes. Though, they all looked quite similar - as the dragons were all generally gifted with long, sleek bodies that were beautifully aerodynamic. Achilles’s dragon, however, was larger, more fit to attack and make sharp turns than Pythios’s feminine-appearing one, but Cassander’s was masculine, and Orpheus’s dragon appeared more agender than any of them, oddly enough. But they couldn’t control what their dragon’s looked like, it was just a part of them now that they could never remove. 

What were they to do now?

As of now, Orpheus’s dragon - which was a lovely cherry red in general with shiny scales that would be in its prime gliding through the water - had laid itself on the flat of the hill, warming itself in the sun in a docile manner without paying attention as to how Achilles was growling a warning at Pythios, who was hopping on the tips of his feet teasingly while croaking out little roars, avoiding Achilles’s swipes at him.

Cassander was done with this already. They had to wait for their dragons’ energy to restore itself after the tiring ritual had been done, and his dragon just wanted to sleep for as long as he could before destroying the kingdom that betrayed him. His bones were sore from transforming and resting was the best thing they could do. 

Pythios’s dragon arched its long back, huffing out hot air from its nose when Achilles’s dragon chose to ignore him. This irritated him, as he had great stamina and was ready to go and fly, but his elder brothers’ dragons were being lazy as _hell_. 

Smelling the ground nearby Orpheus’s dragon, Pythios slid and preened into his brother’s touch when he was allowed to downgrade with him, but right as he laid himself down and got comfortable, Achilles’s dragon whirled up and screeched loudly, a sign that he was ready. Rumbling, the other three followed suit with reluctance - especially Pythios, who was irked greatly by him. It was time to travel, and he had _just_ gotten comfortable. 

_ Damn you, Achilles , _ he thought as they swooped and avoided the forest. Trees were never a good idea to fly in - it was common sense as a dragon - unless you wanted to be punctured, splintered, or impaled by a branch, so one was to avoid the forest while in aerial flight. 

Rumbling, Cassander acknowledged his brothers of sight of the first village. As the other three turned and flew high into the air to watch, Orpheus’s dragon went into the opposite direction, his body roughly slamming into the wattle and daub village houses with the remnants bursting into flames. The first town was easily crushed by the second eldest brother, who quickly lifted up and huffed out blazing fires from his throat.

Just like that, fifty or so small towns and a dozen average sized villages were destroyed. The three youngest took turns to dive down and burn them, feeling a sadistic glee overwhelm them at the sounds of fear and despair ring in their ears. In order to let their throats continue to spit fire without getting dry (as that was the most uncomfortable thing to go through, a week of having a dry throat and constantly hacking up smoke and ash), they turned back to their human forms, downed alcohol and water to slick their throats enough to continue for a good while, and transformed back. It was obvious that news of the four were spreading across the kingdom quickly, as all rumors or gossip did. However, oddly enough, Achilles in general had gone quiet. No roars, spitballs of flames, or squawking from his dragon. 

As Pythios’s dragon fluttered up to his brothers, he noticed the satisfied glint in his eyes as he growled, shooting to the kingdom at breakneck speed. He followed as well. He had forgotten the notice Achilles gave them before they transmogrified, but didn’t they all? The brothers couldn’t survive just by themselves, so obviously Orpheus would tag along with Achilles if Cassander or Pythios did not. It was common sense; there was always strength in numbers.

It was common sense to transmorph back into their human state, seeing as they were headed towards the castle at incredible speeds. Pythios could slightly pinpoint where they'd land - through windows, either the second level or the first. Pythios knew he'd land on the second, Orpheus most likely making a smart choice and slowing down next to Cassander, but Achilles was faster than he and rocketed into the castle while _still_ in his dragon body. Pythios shifted right before he landed, the momentum rendering him unconscious.

Shit.

☁☁☁

His head pounded with every heartbeat that occurred, brain aching and beating against his skull as it throbbed in its place. For a moment, he couldn't see anything; something crusty and dry covered his eyes. It wasn't until he rubbed it off and noticed that it wasn't completely dry that he realised it was his own blood. 

Pythios was dizzy. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, head spinning and as heavy as a small boulder. Sitting up, he had to hold his head with one hand as his other felt around in the air for a wall, piece of furniture, anything. For a moment, he thought he began his next life. For a moment, he was blind. Something salty yet sweet was on his tongue. He was unable to detect his own saliva, but he knew very well that it was his blood in his mouth. It wasn't the very first time he'd tasted blood; he tasted it before. His own, his faux mate's blood, even an animal's blood. It was familiar, but at the same time, it wasn't. Blood was blood, and that's how it stayed. Blood.

It wasn't until a minute or ten later that he regained his sight. He managed to find the wall, pulling himself against it as he heard the shaking sounds of buildings falling, most likely one of his middle-older brothers destroying the watchtowers outside the gothic castle. They were following through, while he was disobeying Achilles and doing absolutely nothing. How disappointing, wasn't it? He shouldn't have shifted, he should have stayed as a dragon and rippled through the second floor to cause the castle to cave in on itself. But his elder brother was there. He wouldn't kill his older brother, the dragon he respected more than he respected himself, although he annoyed him and irritated and bullied him. He was his _brother_, and there was nothing more disgusting than to slay your own kin - even further so if it was Achilles. 

The world spun, and it was hard to focus for a good bit, even if he was able to see. Sight only made his dizziness sharpen itself, you see; Pythios wished he couldn't see at all. His head fell back against the wall and he breathed in a laborious cycle. Which room was he in? 

Opening his eyes again, wiping the blood from his forehead gash and gripping nothing, he shakily stood. How much blood had he lost? Was it fatal? No, a simple gash couldn't cause so much blood loss. He wasn't faint, just annoyed by the blood on his face, which he hoped would go away soon. The room was blurry as he tried to adjust to the world through human eyes, his pretty yellow irises glimmering with bursts of brightness once his human mind had fully clicked. Breathing deeply, he sighed out and gripped the textures of the wall behind him, his claws digging into the wallpaper and causing tears he didn’t particularly care about as he pushed himself up. His thighs were tired, quivering as a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. Luckily he was alone in this room, or else he’d have to kill a maid or servant for seeing his naked body. His body heat kept him warm without clothes, but later on in the future his human body would not be able to withstand the harsh winters or windy autumns. Surely, if he didn’t steal his clothes from his bedroom, he’d make no money to buy subject clothes or supplies to survive. 

Thieving from a fallen kingdom wasn’t a crime, as the kingdom’s laws would fall with it, wouldn’t it? No it was not, not at all. After all, his parents - former parents - had not a single flying clue of their doom. It was all too easy, wasn’t it?

Holding himself against the wall, Pythios lurched forward and stumbled, nearly tripping over his feet to walk and teetering around, looking for something to cover his body with. As he observed further into the room, he noticed that it was a guest bedroom, gifted with silky robes and ribbons to become a simple, single outfit. They were smooth, and Pythios wore them before bed and slept in his underclothing, something scandalous but comfortable. He would miss these clothes, but as he swiped the guest outfit with lovely, intricate designs on the sleeves to wear for himself, his anger swarmed his mind. His father’s emblem was on the breast area of the robe. Just seeing the symbol of his family name made him angry, what had Achilles turned him into?

His raw self, that was what. Tying the ribbon around his thin waist and watching the silk robe fall loose on him, he sighed. This would have to do, he supposed, as there was only this in the room and Pythios would rather not walk around as naked as a krotsbird. 

And so he scurried about the halls, occasionally leaning on the wall and keeping an eye on the empty corridors before dipping into each guest bedroom, swiping outfits and folding them over his forearm before running back to the broken wall where he fell into the bedroom. He couldn’t go to his own room, he just couldn’t, unable to bear the sight of where he slept and grew for the last two decades. It was too sensitive of a place to visit now, and for an odd reason Pythios was glad that it would be destroyed. If his past as a prince could be burned to ashes, he would be able to start his life over. Find people he trusted enough. 

Heaving the clothes onto the stone roof of the castle, Pythios precariously balanced himself as he shimmied along the wall, bare feet rough against the rock and breathing shaky. If he were to fall as a human, he’d one, get the clothes dirty, and two, most likely break his neck. Oddly enough, he was more worried for the clothes - sure, he’d die, but what about his elder brothers? Without the items that he stole, they’d be without money for a good while, as they made it known that Pythios was to steal things from the castle before giving them to Cassander to return to their hiding place. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of his brothers going through worse times than they normally would without them flashing through his eyes. 

No, no, he couldn’t be thinking of _that_ right now. He couldn’t.. He... he couldn’t help but think of the faint memories of his brothers being there next to him one day as he was young, and on the very next day, they were gone. Just like that, the three people he had bonded so well with had been ripped from his fingertips, and even when he asked about them, his father and mother pretended as if he never had three older brothers who enlightened him about every rowdy trick and mean treat to use on the maids and servants. They were the old factors of his personality, and having his kin removed from his life in a snap left his body dreadfully empty. As hollow as a shell, Pythios as a child tried to understand why they left - or seemingly left - so suddenly. But, as time passed and his mind grew numb to the pain of his brothers’ departures, he began to forget them. It started with Achilles, who’s name he didn’t remember until he heard his last name and that he had two younger brothers, his face being ultimately the same as a stranger’s, to Cassander, who he was very close with due to their similar natures and attitudes. He didn’t even recognize him of the three, and Pythios only remembered his brother when he laughed in front of him. That day he had cried, overwhelmed that he found his three brothers in the same time span, flustered at the knowledge that yes, he had brothers and his father had lied to him about it, and that yes, they were alive. He'd cried so hard that day.

It seemed like forever ago that he met his brothers for the first time. It also seemed like this day would be one of the, if not the last, days of his time on Myerakis. He was scared for his life, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. Pythios gulped again, wincing when the first droplets of rain fell on his cheeks, the dark clouds looming overhead and all around him. He was scared, panicky even, having been terrified of thunderstorms since he was a child. How ironic, a dragon prince being scared of a little rain -

“Pythios!” A voice called out to him sharply, obviously one of his brothers. Pythios’s eyes were shut tightly to keep rainwater out of them, the clothes speckled with stains. The wind whistled in his ears, tussling his hair roughly and slapping him in his face. “Pythios, look at me. Open your eyes, it’s me, 'Sander.” 

Cassander? “Yeah, it’s me. To your right, Thio,” apparently Pythios whimpered out what was on his mind. He needed help moving, his body worn already from colliding on and through stone and glass walls. Shivering, he tried to move to his right, shimmying along the wall to -

Yelping, his footing dipped on the rocks and Pythios pressed his bare feet down against the roofing, his back hissing in pain from the contact with the rock and feet aching. “How close are you?” He cried out.

\- get to his brother. Cassander only answered with, his voice unwavering, “A couple more steps, Thio, you’ve got this. You’re carrying a lot, Orph’ll take them, okay?” 

Pythios nodded, his legs quivering but head slightly steady while he slowly, ever so slowly moved. Every step he feared the flimsy pebbles would become slick with the now pouring rain. It was difficult to see, even if your back was facing the rain, as the droplets felt like needles, some even feeling like small bullets. The longer Pythios paused, the more his being was battered by the storm. Their chaos they created in the distance was muted, the fires dwindling down to meek ashes and charred wood out of buildings, the bodies lying on the coarse earth without a droplet of life in them, the smoke billowing out in choking fumes. If he were to breathe in the air in the nearest village, his death was sure to come. “Hold… Hold your hand out,” Pythios whispered faintly, his right arm loosening itself to let his left cling to the clothes. If Cassander heard him, he'd be surprised once he recovered. 

“You’re not that far, don’t worry. Come on.”

One step, two steps, three. The cycle repeated itself as Pythios screwed his eyes closed, too scared to look around him until he was yanked backwards with such a force that the air in his lungs were knocked out of him upon landing on the flat roof of the wall of the castle. Instantly the rain prickled his skin and he breathlessly whined, letting Orpheus take the clothes and run off to _somewhere_ while Cassander grabbed his face by his cheeks. Letting Cassander examine his face and, ultimately, the gashes on his forehead and cheekbones and chin. Pythios ignored Cassander’s worried mumbles and Orpheus’ pants as he returned, hair annoyingly sticking to his face and robes outlining every fine feature of his body. He was exhausted beyond his realization.

“'Thio, 'Sander, come on. Achilles is about to do it,” he said, picking up Pythios by his shoulders and slinging him over his shoulder. The grueling training each of the brothers put themselves through to gather their innermost strengths helped greatly, as well as the fact that Achilles managed to play around but intensify their work at the same time. His jokes were some of the most clever ones, hidden to the point where one would have to stop and think to evaluate if he made a joke or not. Most times, one meant Pythios, who hadn’t quite understood Achilles’s sense of humor until long after they met and acknowledged their brotherhood. 

The soft bounce of Orpheus’s footsteps while they ran caused Pythios to softly, breathlessly groan in discomfort. His brain felt liquid-like, as if it was sloshing inside the skeletal cavity it rested in. Yet, at the same time, it was almost comforting. As if he was being rocked, rocked to sleep, to ease his stress. Pythios tried to stay awake, tried so hard, almost _too_ hard to stay awake and not let his eyes shut. But no matter how soft the blanket of slumber was, he knew.

Something big was about to happen. 


	2. Setting Woes Aside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles comes back, but the journey isn't over. The four brothers have yet to reach the Capital of Astidal, where they will finally rest and meet some old friends. Will their weakened bodies be able to travel the long distance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hNNNNN IT'S TWO AM BUT I MUST. PUBLISH. THIS.
> 
> pls give me feedback, i am a babie who needs criticism owo

Under the pouring rain, his robes cascading down his body, he found solace lying in the hearts and eyes of his brothers. With every breath he took, he felt all of their heartbeats as one, rapid and frantic from the rumbling and shaking of the ground. Rubble lied all around the three of them, Achilles nowhere in sight, the near boulders lying astray due to the four dragons’ carelessness. 

As he closed his eyes, everything seemed slow. His breathing, labored and faint, powered him to heighten his senses. What was Achilles doing now? What was he feeling, seeing? He could not see through his eyes, but he could _feel_ his brother. He could feel his heartbeat, pounding in Achilles’s chest, he could feel the anger and brokenheartedness in his veins. Through their kinship, after fully maturing, they understood each other on an entirely different level that no other could accomplish simply by friendship or love. This, this was far deeper. They were closer than even twins could be, as if their blood and bones were all from the same ball of passion and fire and creation. 

Pythios could also feel Orpheus and Cassander’s overwhelming worry - almost even detecting their worried scents of almonds and rosewood - but the rain muted any scent that hit his nose. In his tiredness, he could not decipher which one was which brother, but his brain slurred together every sound of the forest, his brother’s cries to each other, and the faint sound of crumbling stone and the light over his eyelids indicating flames were active. His brother, Achilles... he could be in danger. Hurt. He could feel the hurting of Achilles’s heart. It hurt him as well, it hurt so damn much it brought heavy tears to his closed eyes. Pythios was scared to open them.

“Orpheus, we _have_ take a break. We’re both worn to our bones, haven’t trained our bodies to take the pain of our dragons. Please. Rest for a -”

“No,” he heard someone reply. Orpheus. “Achilles said to make sure we don’t die, even if he might. He made me promise him that, and I never break a brother’s promise.”

Achilles could die? No... he didn’t want that. Achilles couldn’t die, he was _Achilles_. Pythios could tell that they were in the forest now, the leaves hitting one another for room being loud. Everything was loud. Their heartbeats, the distant falling of the final obstacle, the kingdom, the reign of Hector Agnes. Everything was falling to pieces, yet Pythios and his brothers still remained. The rain splattered on the trees, who shielded the brothers regardless of what they just did. The forest and land were so forgiving; after everything the kingdoms did - cut their trees down, destroy the fruitful earth for their taking - they still gave and gave, providing everything and expecting nothing in turn. Pythios could nearly feel the peace seep into his skin due to his brothers finally laying his body down to rest.

As soon as his body was in contact with Myerakis dirt, and the forest’s grass, Pythios sat up and sobbed from the searing pain. Achilles was hurting, bad. He wasn’t sure of the cause, but it hurt, and Pythios felt as if he was on the verge of passing out for the second time. While he wailed, Orpheus bit his lip tightly and wrapped an arm around Pythios’s body, Cassander moving him to lay back down on his lap, which was clothed again. Everyone was clothed, luckily, but it didn’t matter. Embarrassment was a waste of blood flow now. “What’s the matter, lovely?” He softly asked - but the gritted tone indicated that he was hurting too. Cassander sniffled behind him, crying as well. They all felt the bone-shattering chest agony, fearing for the worst. 

“Achilles! Achilles... he...“ Pythios couldn’t finish his sentence, hands clinging to Orpheus’s arm. Orpheus nodded, wiping off the rain from Pythios’s forehead. 

“I know, ‘Thio. He’s coming back, I promise. If we -” Orpheus hissed as a new wave of sizzling stinging and sudden heat hit their minds, “- can feel his pain, he’s alive. I promise.” All he got out of Pythios and Cassander simultaneously were nods. Sitting through the suffering was like torture, knowing their eldest brother was out there on the verge of his life, crumbling the greedy bastard’s kingdom to the ground. That was the only thing that kept them from giving up.

Orpheus calmed himself, trying to do the same to his brothers. Under the trees, the rain did not cancel out the scents only the brothers could smell. No other being could do such a thing - unless there were other people like them - like smelling things as animals did. It was a gift and a curse, dually effective. As for now, it was a gift. Orpheus’s calm aroma of lavender and primrose did its work instantly, Pythios involuntarily calming down and relaxing. He hated how Orpheus could easily swerve his emotions, force him to relax when his mind was doing everything _but_ relaxing. It was an ability he most likely wouldn’t ever get to use. 

But he was grateful for it, because when he was fully satiated, he could think straight, cheeks dry from his tears and skin brimming with sweat due to the humidity of the rain and August heat. 

“Orpheus?” His voice was light, tender, as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. His body needed to, but the throbbing in his ribs and backside - Achilles’s body’s pain - kept him awake.

“Yes?”

Exhaling through his lips, Pythios glanced at his second oldest brother. “Could you try to get a sense of where Achilles is?”

Another thing with dragonbloods was that they could track one another if in the same brood, same family. No matter how far, how long they’d been apart, a brother could find his own brother if he tried hard enough. But, oddly enough, Orpheus shook his head softly after a moment. “I can’t. He’s blocking me out.”

Pythios felt his heart drop. So Achilles purposefully knew that they’d try and find him, hence why he blocked them out. He didn’t want them to risk their lives to find them.

So he cried again, an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders as he curled over on his side, Cassander carding his fingers through the back of his hair and Orpheus rubbing his arm with his own open arm. They too cried, albeit silently. They had to be strong in this case, knowing how much Pythios looked up to Achilles and how much Pythios adored his older brothers, the ones he only dreamed about for over a decade and a half. They knew that Pythios was lied to about them for his entirety after they were exiled, and that his heart bore different scars - they all were cut in their hearts, but not the same whatsoever. It was all different, and doing this would fix it... hopefully. Orpheus understood things that Pythios could not fully comprehend. Orpheus understood the rippling heartbreak of being rejected by your own father - something that never happened to Pythios, ever. He understood the heavy loneliness that came without a family, but Pythios did not. Or so he thought he didn’t - he didn’t know what Pythios fully went through after Cassander left. He grew up without them, sent off to a far place. 

“He’s - He’s out there risking his life and he knows it,” Pythios whimpered, pulling his brothers impossibly closer. He could feel all four of their heartbeats, one being greatly faster than the others.

Achilles.

“I know,” Cassander whispered, his hands weak as they fell to Pythios’s hips, not wanting the ground to touch them. “We know.”

A pregnant silence fell upon them. A long, heavy silence that was filled with only the sounds of sniffling, a few mumbles here and there, and the flooding rain. If there were any leftovers of a fire, it was inside the castle - or what remained of it. Pythios tired himself out crying, merely lying there like a lifeless ragdoll. The pain was reduced to a dull ache. Achilles had stopped hurting. Good. Cassander’s eyes were dry, as well as all three of the brothers. All of their heartbeats evened out, but something felt off. Slower. As if it was dragging itself against the ground with each beat of a heart.

Achilles... 

Pythios looked up with empty eyes. If Achilles was not hurting, he was most likely dead. His body was sore all over, the throbbing going unnoticed to him. The worst was to happen, his heart was sure, and the brothers would suffer the consequences of being too cautious. Orpheus would be forced to take Achilles’s role, and they’d never be the same - he could see it, the three of them becoming empathetic to others and hearts only beating for the sake of surviving. It was pointless to go on if there was not all four of them. There had to be the four dragons, or else the balance between them would teeter off of itself. 

But something suddenly hit him. The musk of a burning coal, beating of a worn heart and strained body. The slow burn of energy being pushed into Pythios, Orpheus and Cassander. The familiar scent of raw eucalyptus and moss.

Achilles!

Pythios shot up, gasping for air he lost without knowing and eyes snapping open. He was alive, his heart was sure, and with a low whine Pythios got to his knees, staring off into the cloudy sky of rain and wind and distant thunder over the vast kingdom. The smell of smoke from cigars invaded his nose and he furrowed his eyebrows. That was only the smell that he smelled when Achilles was furious, but it seemed that it was a multitude of things now. Sadness, fear, desperation. It ached and it ached in the cavity in his chest. Orpheus and Cassander, he could feel them sit behind him, spent and aching as well. Where was he? Where was his brother, his blood and brood-brother? He needed to know, worry filling his mind as his eyes teared up again from the wind. He stayed there for what seemed like hours, minutes drawn out for so long.

A weary click echoed in his ears, and Pythios crawled back into the forest, hoping it was really him. He was so fatigued that he thought he was hearing things that weren’t there, but he hoped. He hoped and hoped for many more minutes, wondering, praying that Achilles was really coming to his brothers in one piece. 

Somewhere, a far screech was called, a calling to the three of them, and Pythios was in hysterics. The low sound was so light but so heavy at the same time, and it was like whatever gods were up there decided to perhaps give Achilles a chance. And Pythios was thankful for that, so, so thankful.

The lumbering, flying beast landed suddenly, joints popping and snapping and twisting to change into a bruised, cut up Achilles. Pythios stared. How could he not? There was a twinging feeling, he could identify it coming from the slice in Achilles’s arm that he was dangling at his side, bruises marring, burns singing his skin. He was obviously naked, as always after transmogrifying back to their human states, but that didn’t matter. Pythios noted how his chest heaved with every breath, and he became choked up as he tumbled forward, falling to softly hold Achilles, rocking him. The rain wetted his hair and every part of his body, but he let it fall as he cradled his eldest brother, his _alive_ eldest brother, with his small hands that Achilles always teased him over being draped over the expanse of his back and shoulder blades. Achilles was panting, breathing forced, and Pythios knew that if Orpheus didn’t help him, or Cassander, he didn’t have much time. 

Crying out, Pythios called for his brothers, “Help him!”

Orpheus was the first to jump to his feet and join them, tugging his arms under Achilles’s armpits as Cassander lifted Pythios with slight difficulty. Dragging him to the safety of the deeper forest, Orpheus dug around and found a tattered cloth. “We don’t have any medicine, but if you could, could you find herbs that you recognize to be healing, Cass?” Cassander nodded fervently at Orpheus’s request, laying Pythios against a tree to watch pitifully before darting off into the brush. It was quiet in the trees. 

After some time, Pythios quietly asked, “Is he alright?” 

Orpheus paused his cleaning and wiping of the small bits of rubble that pierced his older brother’s skin, glancing at Pythios and nodding lightly. “Just pricked by splinters and small pebbles, and bruised all over, but otherwise, the only thing I’m worried about is the wound on his arm. It stopped bleeding but it looks horrid,” he murmured. The trees provided protection from any sight, and if any animals weren’t wise, they didn’t present themselves to the obviously powerful brothers.

He nodded in response. That was as good as it would get. As if recalled on need, Cassander stepped into their little hideaway under a fallen tree’s roots, where Achilles laid on the moss that matched his smell and Orpheus sat cross-legged next to him, a small pile of wood needles and minuscule rocks laid out neatly. Cassander’s arms held a variant of plants and herbs, only placing them down where Orpheus directed. Achilles seemed too exhausted to speak, or even move. The worried scent of almonds and rosewood mixed in with his own dry, grainy scent of distress. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Cassander suddenly sat himself down, pulling Pythios to his side, “Once Orpheus takes care of him, he’s going to help your forehead gash. It looked pretty nasty as well, don’t think we didn’t notice it.”

Pythios weakly snorted in response. Of course he knew they knew, it was as obvious as a giant in a city of goblins. “Thank you for... helping me, you know,” he whispered, eyes heavy as he sighed. “I was really scared back there.”

“I know. I could smell you even in the rain, it was so pungent. I always hated smelling fear, blue cheese smells horrible. Don’t ever get scared again.” That small tangent caused Pythios to tiredly giggle while watching the two older brothers. Cassander always knew ways to lighten his mood in serious situations. “I’m serious! Don’t, it’s disgusting, I swear upon that. Achilles’s fear smells like charcoal, but yours just _had_ to be the disgusting cheese!”

From the root-cave, Orpheus gave them a side-eye, as if telling them to be quieter. Cassander send a soft grin that faded soon after, dimming his voice to a whisper while making an odd expression. “Do you think Orpheus knows voodoo hymns?”

Pythios burst into a set of aching giggles. What a preposterous accusation! “No!”

Cassander hummed, almost sounding disappointed. “I honestly don’t think I would be too surprised if he started calling out for demons and such. With Achilles around, I’ve been numbed to anything peculiar. Brothers, right?” Pythios rolled his eyes, head lolling to the side as he quietly yawned, on the verge of definitely passing out for the second time. They all were tired; the aching blueness in their hearts was nothing new now. Although Cassander was right, his dramatic attitude was too much for this time.

“I want to sleep. Where are we going to sleep?” Pythios asked, eyes closed as he curled into Cassander’s side. If he had no place to sleep, he at least had his brother to suck warmth from.

This time, Orpheus answered. “In here,” he said. “I finished wrapping Achilles. If he could just move his fat body to make room for us all, we could try and squish under the tree’s roots. The moss is like bedding, we could sleep on it with the protection from the trees. Let me clean up before you dive in.”

Nodding, Cassander stood and pulled the drowsy ex-prince to his feet to force him to wake up for a fleeting moment and lie down elsewhere. Achilles let out a sudden groan, forcing his body to lay in the center of the wide hole with dense moss, moss that compacted itself to be comforting enough. It would make do, being much less comfortable than the bedding he shared with the kind who raised him, but it would do.

Pythios tentatively kneeled beside Achilles and tapped his chin. “Achilles?” He whispered. 

Tiredly, Achilles opened his eyes and stared blankly at Pythios, as if asking what he wanted. His eyes were even more tired than his body.

“Can I lay on you? It’ll be warm and save room, and...“ He trailed off, his words seemingly useless inside his mouth. Pythios tried his best to get the point across, but his mind was rebelling against him in terms of articulation. Achilles seemed to understand, though, because he grumbled something croaky and let his arms splay out around him once Orpheus tossed the wood splinters and pebbles off the side of the hill. Cassander was nowhere in sight, but Pythios knew he was wise enough to not get himself killed, so he tried his best to subdue his worry. Orpheus had forced Achilles into a set of robes to keep his body from losing any more body heat than necessary.

A soft, relieved smile came across his lips, and Pythios yawned before lightly, ever so lightly, draping himself over Achilles and closing his eyes. Although he was mostly muscle, his body weight was like air to Achilles, who had explained that if he felt the need to, he’d chuck Pythios off the face of the planet to mute his loud ass. Pythios laughed at him that time. Therefore, given their body density difference, Pythios hoped there wasn’t too much of a problem - after all, the initial sigh from Achilles seemed tense, but he seemed to loosen up after Orpheus stowed away their things and laid down, Cassander placing a cloth bag next to said things and shaking the water from his body before joining them.

Their hearts hadn’t felt so content in such a long time. 

☁☁☁

The next time they awoke it was much too early for their liking - for Pythios’s liking. The sun was beginning to peep out from the horizon and it was damn cold, something Pythios hated in the mornings. Sitting up and yawning sleepily, Pythios looked around with dryness in the corners of his eyes. Achilles was still asleep, spread all over the mossbed as if he were a flying chipmunk. He looked dumb in Pythios’s tired brain, the only time he was blunt and to the point. But he was also comfortable, so warm and comfortable that he succumbed to sleeping again. 

It wasn’t until he awoke from Achilles’s poking his chest, cheeks, nose and forehead that he realized they were out as bounty. They’d just destroyed an _entire_ kingdom in the time span of a day, and there was no doubt that their heads were worth at least a million. Nervousness trembled in his mind, but the relaxed warmth that came from his oldest brother soothed him. The sun was barely a hand or two’s length from the horizon. He had slept another few hours. 

“Morning, shithead,” Achilles said, voice scratchy and body seemingly beginning to heal. Many of the bruises that were formerly there had dissipated, scratches wiped off like they never existed. Perks of being a dragonblood continued: accelerated healing. Pythios rose a hand and slapped his forehead, feeling leathery skin there instead of blood. It had scabbed over during his sleeping and was well on its way to healing - the result of the medicines Orpheus put on his forehead while he was asleep.

“Morning, asshole,” he hummed warmly in reply, crawling to his feet and gently stretching. The rain ceased overnight as well, dewy droplets being the remaining evidence of a storm aside from the mushy mud and shivering fog arising. 

Orpheus appeared out of the blue, carrying two seemingly empty bags and a flask, sloshing with something that smelled delicious. “Cass and I went to the nearest kingdom and sold a couple of outfits. They’re worth a handsome amount, so we bought food and some water, and a few bags and flasks. It should help us get to the nearest village, I believe.”

Pythios eagerly thanked him and was gifted his cloth bag back, which held the alcohol he brought in the beginning. He hesitated, though, the alcohol seeming to be... gross. Something was up with him. Normally he downed alcohol like he was about to die, but now that his father was gone he had no reason to drink. His sorrows were flushed out of his life, the kingdom gone and his father with it.

As well as his mother... 

Setting the champagne in the cleft of a tree branch, Pythios gave Orpheus the wine to take a generous swig from and left it with him, sipping the water in his flask desperately. His throat was so dry, and Achilles did so as well. When his thirst was settled, he gave his flask to Cassander to finish off and ate his bread and fruit portion. 

Suddenly Cassander cleared his throat, swallowing a berry and speaking up, “I think that I - I managed to estimate how long it would take for us to get to the nearest village. In our dragon forms, it took us fifteen minutes at the highest speed. But that was taxing on our bodies, and it was a waste of clothes. Now we only have four or five pairs, and those have to be sold. We’re going to have to go on foot, which might take a few hours, give or take.”

“Just how far is it? Which kingdom is it in?” Achilles asked, raising an eyebrow. Pythios shoved more bread into his mouth as an excuse to not speak, eyes puffy and cheeks swollen. He watched his shǒu take a swig of water from the flask before handing it to Orpheus. Cassander pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he tried to guess the distance well enough.

“I’m... not to sure, actually... Maybe ten, fifteen kilometers? Twenty is a bit of a stretch -”

Pythios hummed, slowly chewing his food as he absentmindedly stared at the mole on Achilles’s nose, under his eye, on his lip. It was dumb details like moles that caught Pythios’s attention when he felt to awkward to intrude on such serious talks. He was never one for serious conversations in comfortable situations. 

“Pythios, pay attention, you’re going to have to need this information,” Orpheus piped up, and Pythios gave a dirty look to his brother. He most certainly did not want to find out. 

“- But still. It’s pretty close for a town in Astidal.”

Astidal? That was where James, Nick, and Ansell resided. Pythios particularly piped up because of the fact that James lived there. Was that a bad reason? Most likely, but Pythios’s feelings were obviously too tightly knotted around his heart that he didn’t care if he was using James as an excuse to leave his home kingdom. The man was so kind to him, so gentle and never pushed himself onto Pythios like others did, and told him about the places they visited with such a passion that it enraptured Pythios and made him fall - quickly, might I add, but Pythios was normally a shy person in terms of socializing outside of his family, so he kept his feelings at bay and never talked about it. It didn’t stop him from dreaming about the possible day, or impossible day, that he’d get to kiss James freely and dance with him on the beach under the morning sun, or the day that Pythios would explain his entire history to him and James would accept it regardless of the time or mannerism in which he explained it. There were some other thoughts too, but Pythios wouldn’t appreciate the way his body would react if he trailed off in _that_ direction. 

A jab in his side snapped Pythios out of it, and he glanced to Achilles, who gestured slightly at Cassander who was softly explaining what they’d have to do and keep an eye for in the village. Achilles leaned over to Pythios and whispered, mouth disgustingly full of fruit, “I’ll explain once we set foot for Genevieves. I think that’s it.”

Pythios grimaced at his full mouth, but he nodded. He’d need a little clueing in on what Cassander was saying, because his mind wandered off for a good while. If he was to keep himself safe, he needed to know everything Cass explained in full detail. He could only hope that Achilles was good at explaining Cassander’s words he missed.

☁☁☁

Achilles was terrible at explaining, but Pythios managed to get a grip of the basics due to how many times Achilles cautiously forced him behind his body, much to his displeasure. Achilles was protecting him as if he were still a baby, but he was not a child anymore! He was a fully grown adult, a _dragonblood_ adult at that... but he managed to appreciate his brothers. It had always been that way; Pythios would protect all three of his brothers, and in turn they’d protect each other and himself in turn. It worked well, and there were rarely any fights between them other than the bantering. 

Cassander’s tender rules were stiffly established. No veering off the path that Orpheus led, no stopping behind each other to see if something was possible, and most certainly no turning back. If anyone stopped to run back, the brothers would fall behind schedule and possibly risk their lives in the dark. Orpheus threw out a random guess that they’d arrive in the afternoon, if not the late evening. Achilles was fine with that, and if he was alright with it, then all of them were. Pythios ended up squished between his brothers, gripping at the roots of the trees protruding from the dirt as they climbed down a steep hill that was exposed to the sky and rain, meaning at any moment, if they misstepped, their lives would be in vain. Every step was important. Their tense bodies were sheltered by cloaks that Orpheus purchased for a cheap price after bargaining with the seller, using something as a means of trade. Pythios didn’t particularly care about it.

“How close are we?” Pythios called out to Cassander, who paused and stared into the distance ahead of them, across the vast forest that seemed to go on and on.

“Not that close.” Both Achilles and Pythios groaned at the same time, obviously done with the trek.

☁☁☁

Orpheus’s predictions were correct. The four brothers arrived when the sun was Pythios’s hand length from the center of the sky, around one or two p.m., and they were dead tired. Yet Achilles stood, his bag slung over his shoulder and flask safely tucked into said bag, which was hidden underneath his cloak. Pythios sighed and slumped into the bench, sweat beading at his temple. Noon was the worst time to be in the sunshine. “Oh my Gods,” He huffed. “We got here earlier by running like demons were chasing us. Why?” It was a rhetorical question, but Orpheus shrugged, smiling faintly. He wiped the sweat from his brow line, skin glittering with it.

“We just need to book a room in an Inn for today and tomorrow, get a job perhaps, and thrive from now on forth.”

“Don’t you think we should get to the Capital, Orpheus?” Pythios asked, seeming a little too eager. Orpheus surely understood his intentions, a grin dancing across his lips.

“Yes, but we need to find ways of getting money to support ourselves on the trip there. The Capital is hundreds of kilometers away, baby brother. Didn’t you know?”

Not exactly - he’d always slept on the rides there. Pouting, Pythios grunted and stood up picking up his bag and following Achilles, who peered to and fro under his cloak for an Inn.

It took them a good ten minutes, ten grueling minutes of walking and walking and walking. But at last, Achilles was making the Innkeeper flustered with his natural attractiveness to the point where she let the brothers stay for the week without charge, feeling blessed for having four possible angels in her Inn for the week. And with Achilles’s satisfied smirk, Cassander’s polite head nod, and Orpheus and Pythios’s sweet smiles, she most likely was certain that they were angels. Pythios would entertain himself with her easily flustered self, able to make up lies about the brothers on a whim. It was easy to lie to strangers. 

“You four fine men can have a grand room, if you’d like,” she sputtered out, Pythios giving Cassander his things and leaning on the front desk with a smug grin, eyes slightly closing into crescents as they walked up the stairs without him.

“Thank you. My brothers and I need a place to stay. What might your name be, ma’am?” Yes, he was being a tidbit straightforward, but the Innkeeper seemed to like it - as well as the fact that Pythios was wearing scandalous clothes under the cloak. He didn’t let her tempted glances go unnoticed; he knew he himself, as well as his elder brothers, were dangerously attractive and that their tendencies weren’t the best, but it wasn’t hard to coax information out of others with faces like theirs.

“Edetta,” She instantly replied, “Edetta Vyut.” It wasn’t pleasing how she was so pliant with him, her timidness being a bit annoying at how she was so unprofessional. She acted like Pythios was flirting with her, when in reality he was only asking for her name. It was a polite action. Clipping the cloak off and folding it over his forearm, Pythios smiled and winked as he pressed his finger against her nose softly. This gesture was completely intentional, obviously meant to whisk her and have her wrapped around his small pinky.

“Well, Miss Vyut, I’ll say it again - thank you. I can’t think of anything to repay you with,” As he walked up the stairs and swayed his hips, he was aware of her burning gaze at his backside. He knew how tempting his brothers were, and he used it to his advantage. Pythios could practically hear her rapid heartbeat, her cries of desperation in fear of losing such a chance. The knowledge made him giggle to himself.

She never had a chance in the first place.

Sauntering to the second story of the Inn, Pythios heard Orpheus’s voice and opened the door to the room on his right, stretching and taking in the open space. It wasn’t as big as his old bedroom, but he certainly had a bed to himself and bedsheets warmed by the sunshine through the window. The room they stayed in took up half of the entire second story. 

“So, you managed to charm the Innkeeper?” Achilles snickered, grinning toothily as Pythios rolled his eyes.

“Of course. I had her panting like a dog in heat, I swear. Why is it so easy for people to be enraptured by us?” _How ironic._ Pythios was wrapped around James’s finger, dreadfully in love with the prince and far too deep to be brought back out. 

“Because,” Cassander smiled kindly this time, “We’re born that way. Our lifeline will most likely be painfully attractive as well. Get used to it, maybe?”

“But then how are my brother’s snagging people with these ugly faces?” Achilles’s joke earned him a playful shove from Pythios, who scurried to his bed and slid his flask and bag of food under his thin pillow as Achilles whined halfheartedly, messing around to lighten the air.

Huffing and deciding to shove it in his drawer, Pythios suddenly was given a handful of Astidal’s currency coins. “To buy some clothes that suit your own taste,” Orpheus shortly explained, knowing that he’d be upset with the bland and dreary outfits Orpheus and Cassander bought. Pythios smiled happily until Achilles swiped his arm around his shoulders, leaning his weight on him as Cassander huffed in frustration. Achilles escaped from getting his bandages changed, which was necessary to his healing process if he wanted to fight anyone anytime soon.

“I’m coming along to make sure no dirty bitch attacks you. It’s common sense to never go alone,” He remarked, earning an eye roll from Cass. He did not intend to protect Pythios, he knew damn well it was to escape the handmade medicines from the herbs they kept. Pythios did not understand that and nodded, appreciating the gesture with hidden intentions.

“I could use some feedback,” he murmured, toying with the gold, silver, and bronze coins in his hands. The victorious sneer from his oldest brother and Cassander’s annoyed groan went unnoticed as he gathered his cloak in his hands, poured the money into a hidden pocket, and snapped the clips in place. Achilles hurriedly did so as well, pushing Pythios out of the door and down the stairs faster than he could say his full name.

“Damn you, Achilles!” Cassander cried out, clutching the herbs as Orpheus desperately tried to hide his giggles.

_Next time,_ he decided. _Next time._

**Author's Note:**

> ok so maaaybe i decided to leave it at a cliffhanger, but tHERE WILL BE A SECOND AND MAYBE FIFTH CHAPTER KSKJFDKV 
> 
> should this become a full on story?? i intended for it to be a oneshot hnnnn but i don't feel like writing 10k words in one chapter about patricide smh.


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